


Just in time

by MyLadyDay



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, First Meetings, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Wrong Number AU, cracky kink mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2018-12-18 04:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11866548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyLadyDay/pseuds/MyLadyDay
Summary: "Well, since you broached the subject," the man started, with a healthy dose of indignation in his voice, "thank you for the lovely words I will forever have written on my collarbone.""You're welcome," Flint replied, and the second groan that came through the line was just as amusing as the first one.Wherein getting a soulmate is annoying business and Flint is just about done.





	1. First words

**Author's Note:**

> so i made a thing. this is gonna be more of a ficlet collection than a multichapter story, where every chapter is a different part of their lives in this AU as i come up with them. probably not gonna follow a chronological order, just gonna be a series of firsts.

The phone had no business ringing that fucking loudly, with a melody that fucking stupid. Especially at this time of night. Flint didn't know what time that was exactly, but given that he felt like absolute shit, it couldn't have been a good time.

Still, no one really called him other than Miranda, and he always answered the phone for her. Even when she called at completely random times at night. That didn't mean he had to bother looking at the caller ID, though, or even open his eyes to find the damn thing. He answered it a moment later, his ears still ringing from the shrill sound of whatever the hell his ringtone was.

Hell, he couldn't even be bothered to say anything, only grunting loud enough to be heard on the other end of the line as soon as he picked up. Miranda would understand either way.

"Do I look like I'd be into spanking?" a voice, decidedly not Miranda's, inquired over the phone. "Do you think I have a daddy kink I'm not telling you about, or do you just love to see me suffer every time I let you set me up on a date?"

The words themselves were enough to wake Flint up properly, unsurprisingly so, but if they hadn't been enough, the burst of pain along his collarbone would have been. It was unmistakable in its intensity, sharp like the precise sting of a needle tattooing his skin. This was an odd time to feel that, not to mention the words he seemed to be stuck with, and thinking about those for a moment longer just made him forget about the pain of a soulmark.

"And where the fuck do you find so many 40 year old men willing to discuss spanking on a first date?" the voice was still ranting on the other side of the call. "Should I be worried about the company you keep?"

"Just let someone spank you and move on with your life," Flint said, interrupting the rant and, before he could think better of it, hanging up on whoever the hell it was that called him.

Flint was still far too tired to think about things like soulmates and the sense of humor these divine powers seemed to have when it came to soulmates. He was too tired to hold the phone in his hand and keep his eyes open, even tho he didn't really see anything anyway. The day had been too long and all Flint wanted was to sleep, and leave the worrying for later.

Later could have been the next morning, when Flint dragged himself out of bed, and through the apartment, and in front of the mirror. Realistically, he was aware he should have probably addressed the situation, and he probably should have actually talked to the guy, but seeing the words etched into the skin on his collarbone just made him want to forget about the whole thing.

_Do I look like I'd be into spanking?_

Were there worse words a soulmate could give him? Well, probably. Flint had a hard time imagining those at the moment, though, so he didn't even try. Instead, he brushed his teeth and got dressed, grateful that his shirt covered the words. Miranda wouldn't let him hear the end of it if she saw.

* * *

The phone really should not develop the habit of ringing in the middle of the fucking night, or Flint might actually throw it out of the window. The only reason he hadn't done that yet was the fact that Miranda mostly called him if they had a case that needed their attention immediately. It was always Miranda, when it came to the job. No one else at the precinct wanted to, and that suited Flint just fine.

Of course that it wouldn't be Miranda this time, though.

"I think there's something in my walls," the same voice from the night before said, lower this time, softer and perhaps genuinely frightened. "I'm not sure if it's a ghost or a rat."

Flint hadn't really thought much about the sudden existence of his soulmate, and he didn't really want to think about it just then either. He didn't seem to have much choice in the matter, however.

"I'm not sure which option would be worse," he added, as if sharing a secret.

"Well, at least you can rule out a serial killer," Flint said, sounding awfully sleepy even to himself. He wasn't sure exactly why he was bringing up serial killers in what was technically his first conversation with his soulmate, but perhaps that spoke volumes about how frustrating work had been lately.

"If you were going for reassuring, you didn't succeed."

If it was possible, he sounded a bit more panicked.

"I'm not known to be the reassuring type," Flint said, a bit more awake now, and feeling just a tiny bit bad.

"I could tell," the voice sounded amused now, and Flint couldn't help the snort. "What type are you then?"

"The type that apparently has a soulmate with a daddy kink." It was a spur of the moment thing to say, but the indignant groan he got in reply was reward enough.

"Well, since you broached the subject," the man started, with a healthy dose of indignation in his voice, "thank you for the lovely words I will forever have written on my collarbone."

"You're welcome," Flint replied, and the second groan that came through the line was just as amusing as the first one.

"You could at least tell me your name," the man said with a sigh, though Flint noted that at least he no longer sounded afraid of whatever he'd heard in his wall earlier. If that was even true. "I'm John."

"James," he said, his own name sounding almost foreign to him.

"So," John started, and Flint immediately had a bad feeling about that tone. "How do you feel about spanking, James?"

All he could do was snort in reply and hope for the best about the entire thing.


	2. First meeting

He'd never been a fan of waking up. Flint knew that sounded weird, but he hated the feeling of being woken up in the morning after a night with not nearly enough rest. Which was basically every night for probably far too long, but well, he was too tired to think about that at the moment.

It was the beeping that woke him up. The smell of disinfectant broke through soon after, and Flint could piece together where he was. That, paired with the ache that seemed to be nestled comfortably all over his body, almost made him groan. 

With the job he had, waking up in the hospital wasn't all too strange. He didn't like it, and he could admit it happened far too often, but he was used to it. Miranda had a point when she'd said this wasn't something he should get used to, but it was too late for that. She was the reason he wasn't too keen on opening his eyes just yet, knowing she was sitting in the closest chair with that look on her face.

The look that was somehow both worried and disappointed, with a bit of murderous thrown into the mix. It's been years since he was last afraid of her, but that look wasn't one he liked seeing on her face. Especially when he was the one to put it there.

Keeping his eyes closed for a moment longer wouldn't really fool her, he knew that much, but he figured he could indulge himself a little.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes slowly, waiting to adjust to the light, before taking a look around the room. It looked like just about any hospital room he'd been confined to, different only in one aspect.

Miranda wasn't there.

Someone else was, stuffed uncomfortably into the ugly looking chair. Flint worried for a moment he'd hit his head and got amnesia, but he dismissed it and reconciled with the fact that he just didn't know this man. He assumed it was a man, but the mane of dark curly hair made it difficult for him to see the face.

With a low, surprised snort, the mystery person woke up, almost falling from the chair. He looked around in what looked like panic to Flint, before his eyes settled on the bed.

It definitely looked like panic then, as their eyes met.

The silence could most definitely be described as deafening. On Flint's end, it wasn't awkward though. He was used to staring at people silently, even if that tended to only happen with suspects during interrogation, but well. That wasn't important.

"I uh," the man started, slowly rising from the chair without breaking eye contact, "I should probably get a doctor?"

That sounded more like a question than anything else, but Flint ignored that for the time being as he focused on the voice instead. He'd heard that voice so many times already, mostly late at night, after his phone rang that annoying stupid ringtone, and he'd answered with an unintelligible grunt.

"John?" he asked, pretending his voice didn't sound more hoarse from disuse than it usually did. He was sure John was used to it anyway, after all the phone calls.

"Yes," John said, "hi. How are you?" he asked, cringing as soon as the words left his mouth.

"That's a dumb question," he said, running a hand down his face as he sat back down. "Sorry."

Flint hadn't spent much time imagining what John looked like. If he had, though, he doubted this was what he'd have in mind. For one, John looked younger than Flint expected. Hair was curlier, wilder, but somehow fitting. He didn't sound like someone who'd wear oversized soft sweaters, but then again, was it even possible to sound like that? Flint wasn't sure. The sweater did look comfy, though, and Flint just wanted to reach out and touch it.

He was sure he liked the sight of John, surprisingly enough, once he tore his gaze away from the sweater.

"I'm fine," Flint said, finding some mercy to spare John the embarrassment of asking a question that wasn't actually dumb.

"You're a lot of things, but you are not fine," John said, sounding awfully affronted, as if Flint just said something absolutely unbelievable.

He must have pulled a face in response, because John's face contorted into a confused grimace.

"You got shot," he said, his face an amusingly complicated mix of emotions. At least Flint thought so at the moment, but that may have been all the painkillers talking. "Isn't that usually a cause for concern?"

Flint ignored the question, so he wouldn't have to mention the other three times he got shot so far, and instead focused on the more important things.

"Can you think of a less romantic first meeting than this one?" he asked, on the verge of smiling like an actual dope. Painkillers always made him weird.

"At least it's fitting, don't you think," John replied, still looking slightly constipated or whatever the hell that look on his face meant, but at least it wasn't as prominent as it was moments ago. "Goes right along with the least romantic soulmate tattoos in existence."

Flint happened to like his least romantic soulmate tattoo in existence, now that he'd gotten used to it.

"I like it," Flint said uncharacteristically softly, and he wanted to say more, but his eyelids grew heavy all of a sudden. Painkillers were officially the worst, though he did have a thought to spare how they saved him from saying anything else that would be unlike him.

"Why don't you go back to sleep?" John said, voice fading into the background. "I'll go tell the doctors you woke up."

Flint was sure he nodded at that, but it was anyone's guess if he actually had, before he drifted off to sleep again.


	3. Interlude: First time meeting Miranda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set before chapter 2, to answer how Silver found out about Flint being in the hospital.

Late night calls were becoming the norm recently, ever since that time he dialed the wrong (right) number and met James. They probably should have started talking at more normal times of day, instead of the dead of night, but Silver didn't mind. He was a night owl anyway, and so far, James hadn't complained. Hadn't offered an explanation on why he constantly sounded like he wasn't used to speaking either.

But so far, it was always Silver that called first. He didn't mind that either, not when James answered every time.

Someone else answering James' phone was a first. He'd heard about Miranda in passing, her name being the only one James ever mentioned so it wasn't hard to figure who would have his phone. But the reason why eluded him, and that was enough to make him worry.

"John, are you there?" she asked over the phone, snapping his attention back to the conversation, knowing he was more likely to find out why Miranda was answering James' phone by actually talking to her.

"I'm here, sorry," he said before pausing, not knowing just how to ask what was wrong.

Something must have been wrong, he was sure of that much, because as little as he knew about James, he was absolutely certain that James wasn't the type of person to leave his phone somewhere or to just let anyone have it.

Luckily, Miranda seemed to be just as observant as James hinted at, and Silver didn't even have to ask.

"James has been shot," she said, sounding awfully put together, but Silver heard the quiver in her voice because every other sound died down to give gravity to her words.

"Is he-" he started, but couldn't finish his question.

Odd, how afraid he was that James had died, even though they barely knew each other in reality. Those phone calls were so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but Silver found himself stricken with the thought he'd never actually get to know who was hiding behind that deep, sad voice he got so used to.

"He's alive," Miranda said, putting an end to the spiraling of his thoughts. "He's still in surgery, but he will be fine."

Impossible not to release a breath from the overwhelming relief.

"Would you like to meet me at the hospital?" Miranda asked, once again dragging his attention to the conversation at hand, and stopping him from overthinking this.

"Yes, please," he said, unsure what his voice sounded like.

Was he worried? Almost impossibly so. But he was also incredibly confused about the scope of his concern. He could hardly claim there were feelings involved after nothing but a few phone calls and the bare minimum of information shared. Being soulmates rarely meant love at first sight.

He hated the thought of missing out on the opportunity to get to know James though.

That thought haunted him through the rest of the conversation with Miranda, and the subsequent drive to the hospital. He'd never liked hospitals, and that dislike only grew as Miranda led him to one of the rooms. It was the worst moment to realize he'd be seeing James for the first time in a god damn hospital.

It was also the best moment to realize that just went along with their relationship so far. James was bound to find it amusing once he woke up.

Seeing him there, this man that was virtually a stranger to Silver, lying in bed with his eyes closed, his skin unnaturally pale, was almost sobering. It brought out the freckles littering James' skin, but this wasn't the way they were meant to look, Silver was sure of it.

"Would you mind waiting here until he wakes up?" Miranda asked, already almost out the door, but her eyes remained glued to where James lay in bed.

"I'll stay," Silver said, looking away from her face, feeling as if he was intruding on seeing her worried, sure he wasn't meant to see her vulnerable.

"Thank you," she said with the first genuine looking smile, before disappearing, leaving Silver with nothing to do but fold himself into one of those awful looking chairs and wait for James to wake up.


End file.
